With faith in my trusty '96 Taurus wagon, I set out to pursue an old and
unfulfilled ambition -- a cross-country drive from Pacific to Atlantic.

Not that I didn't have qualms at the outset of my trek that would take me from
Bellingham, Wash. to Ship Bottom, N.J., where our daughter has a weekend house.
After all, my previous longest drive had been from Philadelphia to Phoenix in
'96, the year I came to my senses and moved to the Southwest.

My initial misgivings proved groundless, however, because I did the trip in a
surprisingly relaxing, thoroughly enjoyable eight days. Following Interstate 90
most of the way, I averaged 400 miles daily with ease.

Lightly trafficked, the route is an invitation to audition for Phoenix
International Raceway. Having yielded to that temptation a few years ago and
emerged lighter of wallet, I set cruise control for 75 mph, the legal limit.
Scenery was the allure, not a trooper's lights flashing in my rearview mirror.

And scenery there was, exceeding my expectations. My one regret now is being
unable to navigate and keep a journal simultaneously. Some sights are etched
permanently in memory. One involved an extensive stretch of Wyoming's landscape,
uninhabited except for herds of antelope, where I glimpsed with increasing
clarity the snowy Rockies in the distance.

Memorable, too, were sounds, including the raucous chatter of a pair of ravens
soaring lazily on updrafts in South Dakota's Badlands. I found myself smiling
enviously at their unapologetic self-indulgence.

And stopping at night in places like Ritzville, Wash., and Onalaska, Wis., tiny
dots on some comprehensive road atlas, I breathed the clean fragrance of
wind-driven evergreens, banishing temporarily the memory of noxious urban
exhaust.

Then there were the people I met, for the most part, generous-spirited and
friendly, eager to make those passing through feel welcome. Regions, dialects
and parts of cultures may have differed, but openness and goodwill were
constants.

Covering 12 states, the junket was a treasure to be remembered always. And there
was a major bonus, largely unanticipated. It turned out to be a temporary escape
from the doubt and division currently pervading the country.

I enjoyed the brief hiatus from our current microscopic examination of national
purpose. However disconcerting today's self-scrutiny may be, crossing the
heartland re-illuminated a dimming realization. We are a nation comprised of the
sum of greatly differing parts. Sometimes bitter internal conflicts are
inevitable because we're a democracy, not a dictatorship.
Fairly soon, we'll be whole again, and better for our introspection.

Being a nomad for eight days left me dazzled by the almost unimaginable treasure
of our country. It also, thankfully, bolstered my optimism for the future.